Mediocre Things
by Operation Milkdud
Summary: Patrick Jane is absolutely certain that he's in love with Teresa Lisbon.  Teresa Lisbon is absolutely certain that she's in love with someone else. Rated T because I just can't help myself.
1. First Date

A/N: I don't own the Mentalist, because if I did, things wouldn't end very well for Frye.

Chapter One  
First Date

"Unless it is

**mad**

_passionate_

extraordinary

love,

it is a waste of time. There are too may mediocre things in life.

Love should not be one of them."

Patrick Jane opened his eyes, feeling the miracle of that small effort. He ignored everything else-the sound of sirens wailing, handcuffs clicking around bloodied wrists, the grunts of a breathless serial killer against the blacktop. He felt warmth on his face, and he was sure that it had been sunny before this moment, but he couldn't recall feeling it with such relish since his family had been murdered. Since Red John had cruelly stolen them away.

Before they ushered the twisted, deranged man out of Jane's line of sight, their gazes met. Jane had wondered, on those many sleepless nights, how he would feel when he looked into the eyes of the last person to see his family alive, and it was true; Lisbon had been right. Everything, the last five years, dissolved away and he couldn't remember what he was doing in that place or why he felt so exposed. Red John was forcibly turned away, but Jane didn't notice; he was searching frantically for another pair of eyes. Green eyes.

"I'm here, Jane," she murmured, kneeling down beside him. She ran one hand through his hair, from his loose, blond bangs to his crown, and smiled softly at him.

"Did I call for you?" he heard himself ask, and then immediately wished he had not. Lisbon hid her injury well, though.

"No. But I thought you might need a friend." Her hand rested on his shoulder, and he was grateful for it. Without her holding him down, he might float away. Lisbon looked inquiringly into his bruised face.

He grasped her hand in his own; his voice shook as he spoke.

"I definitely need a friend. Thank you."

After a few minutes, she helped him to his feet. He'd been on the ground since Red John had wrestled free from him, pulled a gun on him when he was down...and then Lisbon had been there. He knew he would never be able to remember exactly what had happened, but all that mattered was that no one else had had to die because of Red John.

"And you're sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" she asked, leading him to her car.

"Don't need a hospital. I'll be fine. Just take me away from here."

After Lisbon's seatbelt clicked into place, there was complete silence in the car. Jane knew what she was asking, but he didn't know how to answer her. He could only stare at his knees, twist his wedding band around and around on his swollen finger.

"Where to?" she asked tentatively, taking charge and cranking the car. "Your house? The CBI?" Jane only swallowed, and suddenly he didn't think he wanted to be _anywhere_ anymore.

"Wherever. Somewhere, please."

"...Okay. We'll go somewhere, then."

Jane remembered that about an hour later, they had parked outside Lisbon's home and she had helped him to her sofa. He had collapsed immediately and slept for quite some time. When he awoke, the television in her living room was showing the ten o'clock news. Red John's face was everywhere. Everyone would know exactly what he looked like in a matter of hours; a face could be put to the crimes he had committed. He would never lead any semblance of a free life again. Jane relaxed, truly relaxed, for the first time in years.

Lisbon appeared in the living room and clicked off the TV. At that moment, he had never seen anything so beautiful: Teresa Lisbon in cotton pants (with a drawstring, no less) and a faded Rolling Stones T-shirt. He knew right then that his life was going to get better, no matter how dark things seemed.

"I made us dinner, if that's okay?" she said quietly, smiling a little. Jane stood, smoothed out his clothes and shoved his hands into his pockets with a genuine grin on his face. Lisbon responded immediately, almost lighting up.

"Dinner would be great," he said, and that was the night that he started over.

-:-

Two years later, Jane sat on that very same couch, watching the news. A special report came on just as he sipped at his glass of wine.

"Oh, Teresa! Come and look at this," he called, and she emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of cake batter and a whisk. She leaned against the arm of the sofa and Jane casually stuck his finger in the mixture before popping it into his mouth. "Delicious," he said appreciatively.

"Shhh! I want to see this!"

And for the next five minutes, the report celebrated the two-year anniversary since Red John's arrest, and went on to say that only a few weeks after his capture, he went to trial and was sentenced to death. Jane remembered the whole thing, and he was utterly unsurprised to find that Lisbon had been right once again. Over the past two years, something had healed that broken person that he used to be. He no longer felt tied to Red John by anything, and he quietly looked into Lisbon's face, wordlessly asking a very important question.

She nodded, and changed the channel.

"So, how many of these dinners have I cooked for you now, Patrick?" she inquired, chuckling under her breath.

"Hmm...well, today marks exactly two years since the first one. If you leave out the odd sick day or two, and the few nights we've spent apart, with you on those crazy dates of yours-"

"_What _nights? You've been eating me out of my paycheck every single night since then, whether I'm home or not."

"Have not!" he retorted, as he followed her to the kitchen. She poured the cake batter into a greased pan and carefully slid it into the oven.

"Have too," she said, straightening up and putting her hands on her hips. Jane backed down immediately. It didn't matter how casually she may have been dressed or that she was baking like the perfect soccer mom. She could still beat him up, and he knew it.

"Okay...fine. But it has meant just as much to you as it has to me!" he shot back, and his voice was playful, but the words caught her attention. Realizing the implications of what he had just said, he tried to shrug it off as cooly as possible. "You know...since you were so lonely before me, and all. Seriously, Teresa. Without me, you'd have no social life."

"Very funny, Jane. But you're incorrect yet again," she said, and to his relief, she seemed just as desperate to ignore his slip as he was. "The cake will be finished in about an hour. You'll have to take it out of the oven _using pot holders, please, _and set it on top of the stove to cool." She set a digital timer for sixty minutes and placed it on the counter. Then she turned and left the kitchen and headed to her bedroom; Jane followed, wondering why she was giving him so many difficult instructions. "Now, I have to freshen up. There is spaghetti in the fridge for you. I, on the other hand, have a date tonight!" she called behind her, and Jane stopped short.

He heard her bedroom door close, heard her humming through the walls. He thought it was quite possible that she only went on these dates because she needed time away from him, but, to his intense (guilty) pleasure, none of these guys had ever struck her fancy. To Jane's knowledge (and he believed it to be diverse and thorough) Lisbon had not even brought a man to her home in the past two years. Beside himself, of course.

And with that comforting thought in mind, Jane settled back into Lisbon's sofa, remote in hand.

This night would be like any other night. Lisbon would come home, take off her "date shoes," frost the cake (and let Jane eat the remaining icing), watch some TV and tell him goodnight. And the best part? She would be alone...at least until the morning, when they had to go back to work. No one would be sleeping in Teresa Lisbon's bed but Teresa Lisbon, and that was all Patrick Jane had to say on the subject.

And when she left ("Don't forget to turn off the oven, Patrick!"), he felt quite confident that she would be back before midnight, tired and blissfully alone. So when she walked out her front door, he wasn't worried. Not at all.

Until sunrise came and went, and Teresa Lisbon wasn't home.

* * *

Continue? Review=yes!


	2. Falling

A/N: It has been soooo long since I updated this, and I have two excuses: laziness and lack of motivation. But a recent experience has shown me that I can't give up on writing just because I get a little busy. I have amazing reviewers and followers who appreciate my stories and want me to continue, so this update and all the updates to come are for them. What's so great is that I had forgotten how much I _enjoy _this! So thank you to 1832TeaQL for the friendly nudge and support. I hope this makes you glad you stuck with me!

Chapter Two  
Falling

"Sometimes I wish for falling  
wish for the release

Wish for falling through the air  
to give me some relief

Because falling's not the problem,  
when I'm falling I'm at peace

It's only when I hit the ground  
it causes all the grief."

-Florence + The Machine

"Wake up, Teresa. Someone's calling you. For the hundredth time." A deep, soothing voice coaxed Lisbon from her dreams, and she awoke to several unusual sensations. She felt well-rested, could smell bacon and coffee, and overall, her body felt...satisfied. When she realized why, she couldn't stop the blush from creeping over her cheeks.

"Good morning," the voice said, and her blurry vision focused on a very attractive man in his mid-thirties. His broad smile made her blush even more deeply. He was standing over her, offering her a vibrating phone.

"Good morning," she grinned as she took her phone from him. She gripped the sheet that covered her chest and sat up, still smiling as she answered her call. "Lisbon."

"Just where in the HELL are you? Do you know what time it is right now? I don't. I haven't looked at a clock in hours, because they say every hour someone stays missing, they are less and less likely to be found AND THAT IS WHERE MY MIND IS RIGHT NOW!"

"Jesus Christ, Jane! Calm the hell down!" Lisbon gasped, and immediately blushed deeper when her date from the night before cocked an eyebrow at her. He still smiled as he pulled on a t-shirt. Lisbon blinked. He was extremely good-looking. And she'd apparently slept with him.

He must have been very, very drunk at the time.

"Are you even listening to me? I'm having a crisis," Jane whined, but Lisbon heard the relief in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Jane. But you knew I had a date. I'm an adult, you know." Lisbon watched Mark Vicker pull a blue and white striped dress shirt over his white t-shirt. His fingers had no trouble with the buttons. And they hadn't had any trouble the night before, either. _Damn the blushing!_

"I realize that," Jane snapped, "but you've had plenty of dates before, and you're always back before midnight. This isn't like you."

Lisbon rolled her eyes and tucked her free hand under her opposite arm, feeling quite self-conscious in front of a man who was several years her junior.

"Okay, I get it. You're mad because I didn't come straight home and frost the cake, aren't you? Well, look in the bottom of the cupboard; there's a jar of store-bought icing in there, I'm sure. Just check the expiration date. And ONLY frost the cake, I mean it! If I come home to a mess..."

"You wound me, Lisbon. I had completely forgotten about the cake in my concern for you. But thank you for reminding me, because now I am mad AND hungry, and I'm going to put frosting in your favorite shoes unless you-you-YOU SLEPT WITH SOMEONE, DIDN'T YOU?"

Lisbon nearly giggled. She thought about lying, but decided against it. Jane seemed genuinely upset, though she couldn't imagine why. She'd spent the better part of two years eating dinners and watching movies and pondering the secrets of the universe with Jane. Was it so wrong that she wanted a little time to herself, to be a woman? And so, she did the best thing she could do, and what Jane deserved.

"Well...yes. I did. And I liked it very much." Mark caught her eye and gave her a pointed look. He knew exactly what she was talking about.

"Me too," he mouthed, and lifted a cup of coffee to his upturned lips.

Lisbon remembered she was actually on the phone and tuned back in to Jane's voice.

"I...that's...well, congratulations. I could tell you'd been sexually frustrated. For _years_. Always in a bad mood, always hitting me with things..."

"I'm going to go now, Jane. See you later." Lisbon didn't give him a chance to protest; she tapped the little red button on her phone and it was silent.

Then, it was time for another awkward conversation.

"Hi," she said, and bit her lip. Mark nodded, placed his coffee on his dresser and sat on the side of his bed. He gently gripped one of Lisbon's knees through the thin sheet.

"Hi," he answered, and said nothing else. Making no attempt to hide what he was doing, he let his eyes roam Lisbon's body and she felt herself turn red in response. Finally, his eyes focused on hers again. Lisbon thought, with a little bit of pride, that he looked flushed, too.

"So...was that the Jane you were telling me about last night? Seems like whoever it was is pretty protective of you." His hand slid down to her ankle as he spoke.

"Yeah...that was Jane. And we've worked together for years. We've solved a lot of cases together, he and I and the team. Of course he's protective," she said diplomatically. It was utterly ridiculous, anyway, that Mark would assume anything was going on between her and Jane. The idea made her giggle (inside. Quietly.).

"Yeah, okay," Mark drawled, rolling his eyes in good humor. "So, about this...situation. I realize you're a grown woman who is perfectly capable of having one-night stands. And I'll be frank with you, I've had a few myself; enough to know that every woman is different in how she wants to handle things. You might be sort of surprised to know that sometimes I'm the one who doesn't get called again."

Lisbon wasn't entirely sure where he was going with the conversation, so she opted for coy humor.

"Well, it's definitely not a reflection on your lovemaking skills," she quipped, then felt a little stung when Mark's smile became tighter.

"I'm no catch, I know. Thirty-six and divorced. And up until now, emotionally unavailable." He looked down at the sheet when he said this, and Lisbon felt horrified that she'd hurt his feelings. This was more embarrassing than 'Hey, stranger. My wife will be home soon, so if you could be out of here in, say, five minutes, that'd be great." And she'd gotten that before. Twice.

Lisbon leaned forward and delicately covered his hand with her own.

"Hey, no, you're great! Or I wouldn't have come home with you. I have even better taste when I'm drunk. Jane's said so himself."

"There's that Jane guy again," Mark answered, but he was smiling playfully again as he lifted his eyes to meet hers. Lisbon relaxed. Then she remembered something which suddenly seemed obvious and vital.

"You said...'up until now'...you were 'emotionally unavailable'...? Would that mean...as of now...you _are..._emotionally available?" Her voice had reached a squeaky, embarrassing note when she'd finished her rambling question, and Mark looked thoroughly amused.

"Yes, Teresa. Can I call you that? Or do you prefer 'Lisbon'?" He was leaning in for a kiss. He was really sexy. Lisbon thought he must still be intoxicated.

"I-I like 'Teresa' actually...it's nice...no one calls me that," she said, reclining back against the pillows as he slowly advanced on her mouth. Her eyelids were nearly closed.

"No one? Not even Jane?" Mark's voice was velvety with desire; Lisbon's lips parted dutifully.

"Not even Jane," she answered, and their lips met.

* * *

At three o'clock, Teresa Lisbon paused at her front door to sift through the keys on her key ring, trying to juggle her purse, jacket and empty coffee thermos from the morning before. Just as she was about to slide the right key into the lock, her door opened inward, and there stood Patrick Jane.

"Need some help?" he asked, and Lisbon felt her face break into her biggest lip-stretching grin. Jane cocked an eyebrow. "I meant with the door, not your mental health, Lisbon."

"Are you going to let me in my home or not? I am wearing my gun, you know." Lisbon pushed past Jane and immediately dropped her purse on the side table beside the door, along with her keys. Throwing her jacket over the back of her sofa, she turned and faced Jane as he closed the door.

"Really? How? Where are you hiding that thing? I'm intrigued," he said, and Lisbon was relieved that he sounded less angry.

"That's not for you to ever find out. But I really want to talk to you about my date last night."

His face remained impassive. That was better than pissed off, she decided.

"I know I should have called to let you know I wouldn't be coming home, but really, I didn't even know if you'd stay the whole night. Sometimes you do, sometimes you don't. Anyway, once I decided to go home with him, I didn't have much else on my mind besides, well..."

"Having sex with a guy you barely know?"

"Jane!" Lisbon nearly growled, and she sank down on her sofa. Jane uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands in his pockets, then immediately pulled them back out and ran one hand through his blond curls.

"Okay. A guy whose name you know. And that's enough to sleep with him?" The question sounded accusatory, but his tone was more conversational now. He moved to take the chair across from Lisbon, and once he sat down and crossed his right leg over his left (Lisbon had learned that his was a sign that he wanted information more than a fight) she relaxed into her sofa a little more.

"I do feel sort of bad about it. But I see him every time I go for a run at the park just down the street. It was only a matter of time before we struck up a conversation. Not my fault we have common interests. He's nice, Jane. You'll like him. He's got an amazing sense of humor." She tacked that last bit on for Jane's benefit. She honestly didn't know how nice Mark was, but he seemed to be a genuine person. Her gut feelings rarely led her astray. But if he didn't call, then she wouldn't be too devastated. She hoped.

"I'm not criticizing your lifestyle or chastising you for _sinning, _Lisbon. Although I don't think God would be too happy about this, if he's really up there. I'm just trying to look out for you. We know better than anyone that there are some truly crazy people out there."

"I know what you're doing for me," Lisbon said, and she slid forward in her seat to reach out and take Jane's hand. "And I appreciate it. But...I'm a cop. A pretty good one, in my personal opinion. I can take care of myself...and...Red John is gone, Jane. We don't need to worry about him anymore." Lisbon knew that Jane was thinking about Red John, particularly now, since the anniversary of his capture was upon them. She felt bad again, realizing she'd gone off on a date on a night when Jane particularly needed her. She'd been silly to think he wouldn't stay the night.

"Noted," Jane snapped, "but that doesn't mean there aren't others like him." He drew back from her touch.

"There always will _be_ people like that," she said softly, leaning away from him again, feeling just a little hurt. "But you should be happy for me, that I'm not letting them control my life. And you shouldn't let them control yours either. When was the last time you went out, Jane? Not counting Cho and Rigsby. _Maybe_...you're just jealous, huh?"

That got his attention, as Lisbon had known it would.

"Me? Jealous? Right. When have you ever known me to be an individual of the jealous sort?" He was sitting upright in his indignation, and Lisbon had to laugh. She stood, and Jane's eyes followed her. "That's just hurtful, Lisbon," he pouted.

"Oh, you'll get over it. Next time, I'll break it to you gently. I think you've whined enough today. Anyway, it's Saturday, it's three-thirty and I want some cake. Did you frost it?" Lisbon had already headed to the kitchen, her arms stretched above her head as she went. A yawn escaped from her lips; she blushed again at the realization that she hadn't had much sleep the night before. She headed straight to her bedroom to change her dirty clothes and take off her "date shoes" as Jane called them. The silence from her living room made her highly suspicious. "Jane? The cake? Did you frost it?" she called.

"Well...I might have. It's, you know, it's a possibility."

A sense of dread filled Lisbon as she emerged from her bedroom in fresh sweatpants and her most comfortable tank top. Bracing herself, she entered her kitchen, only to find Jane scurrying around like a cornered rat, trying desperately to make the damage seem less than it was.

Frosting. White buttercream frosting, everywhere. _Everywhere. _

"I-I'm going to cause you grievous bodily harm in about three seconds, Jane. Three..."

"I'll clean it, Lisbon! Really, look-"

"Two..."

"Don't count like that. Don't do it. It's scary-"

"_One_..."

"What in the hell are you doing with THAT-"

"!"

"WAIT! WAIT! Ha-Have you checked your favorite shoes yet? Hmmm?"

"..."

"Yeah! That's right. You don't know if this punishment will be sufficient yet. You really should go check those shoes."

Slowly, Lisbon lowered the bowl of remaining frosting (there wasn't very much, as Jane had smeared it over her entire kitchen) and placed it on the filthy counter.

"Don't move," she growled, and turned to go to her bedroom.

In a flash, Jane darted around her, through the living room, out her front door and into his waiting Citroen. Lisbon chased after him and almost caught him, but he locked his car door just in time. She pulled on the door handle in vain.

"Sorry, Lisbon!" Jane shouted, his voice muffled by the closed windows. "Next time, I'll break it to you gently!' Jane started his car and waved at a glowering Lisbon as he slowly pulled away, already knowing there'd be hell to pay at work come Monday. He glanced in his rearview mirror to see Lisbon going back into her house, no doubt plotting his death and dismemberment.

It amazed him that, no matter how angry (and even a little disappointed) he was with Lisbon, she always made him forget what was troubling him, and he never left without a smile and a lighter heart. She was always honest with him and a good listener when he needed to talk. He liked to think he did the same things for her and resolved that he would sit and hear her talk about her date, whoever he was, without being (too much of) an ass. Or, he'd try very hard, anyway.

But an idea tormented him more fervently the further away from her that he became, and he realized that he didn't fear for her safety; neither was he jealous over her renewed love life.

It dawned on him as he stopped at a red light that Lisbon would eventually find a man who truly loved her-in ways Jane couldn't. That man, whether it was Mystery Date Guy or someone she didn't know yet, would provide for her every need, and she would love him completely. There wouldn't be any place for Jane in the life of someone who had everything they needed, because truly happy people just didn't want men like Jane in their lives. Lisbon just wouldn't need him. But Jane _needed_ to be needed. He needed _Lisbon _to need him.

Was it even possible for him to be a whole person without Lisbon? She'd given him his life back. He'd be nothing, or next to nothing, without her. What if he went back to how he used to be when she realized she was better off without him?

How could you loosen your grip on the person who made you _you?_

The light turned green, but Jane didn't go.

* * *

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	3. Heavy Heart

A/N: I love, love, LOVE my reviewers. That's what just about every person who ever writes anything says. And I do feel that published authors mean it, but I don't believe anyone appreciates feedback as much as unpaid, unpublished writers who work forty plus hours a week and do this just as a creative outlet. To have anyone enjoy it or even hate it enough to respond makes doing it that much more fun. Thank you all :) and to show you how appreciative I truly am, I left you a nice little cliffhanger at the end. Don't you love those? ;)

Chapter Three  
Heavy Heart

"This will be my last confession  
'I love you' never felt like any blessing  
Whispering like it's a secret  
Only to condemn the one who hears it  
With a heavy heart."

-Florence + The Machine

The arrival of a rainy Monday morning interrupted Lisbon's weekend. As she rolled over in her bed to slap her alarm clock's snooze button, she realized that it was unusual for her to want to be somewhere besides work. Then she smelled Mark's cologne on the pillow beneath her, and she knew why she wished it was still Saturday.

Mark had called the night before to ask if she wanted to grab a drink. He'd jokingly commented that he hadn't been able to wait forty-eight hours to call her, so could she please agree to see him and put him out of his misery? She'd giggled (more unusual behavior on her part) and accepted, washed her hair and applied her makeup, found her nicest pair of jeans and a flirty top and had just finished straightening her cross necklace when Mark had knocked on her door. And really, he'd had no right to look so good, in his own pair of jeans and a snug, pristine white t-shirt. Jane had been right: Lisbon had been needing this for quite some time.

They'd never made it to the bar. And without alcohol in their systems, Lisbon found she had enjoyed their second encounter much more.

Early Sunday morning, Mark had left, saying he'd gotten a call from his job about an emergency staff meeting. Lisbon had been surprised at herself that she hadn't thought to ask what he did for a living, but he had read her mind and with a smile, replied, "Veterinarian."

Back in the present, Lisbon glanced around her bedroom to make sure no one could see (Jane could be hiding anywhere. Seriously.) and took a deep breath, inhaling Mark's scent. She closed her eyes and grinned, allowing herself just one more moment before Monday's inevitable beginning.

In the shower, she mentally ticked off Mark's admirable qualities...at least the ones she knew about so far. He was polite, attractive, generous, handsome, an animal lover, _extremely good-looking_(!)...and he did have a sense of humor. It felt nice to know she hadn't lied to Jane about that. But she wasn't going to congratulate herself just yet. She wasn't a teenager anymore; she knew that no man was perfect, and if he _seemed_ too good to be true, then he was. As she dried her hair, she thought, _I can still hope, though._

Lisbon had spent too much time in the shower, so she didn't have time to do much to her hair besides gather it into a sloppy bun. She didn't bother with make up, but just because she was in such high spirits, she dabbed on just a bit of her favorite lip gloss. As she grinned at herself in her bathroom mirror, she heard her phone ringing on her bedside table. It was Jane's ringtone. She grabbed the phone and answered it as she slipped into her shoes.

"Hey, Jane. I'm running late. Do you need something?" Lisbon rushed to collect her purse and keys.

"Well, no. I just wanted to say 'hi.'"

"Oh? Ok...hi, Jane..." Lisbon locked her front door and almost ran to her car, pressing the "unlock" button on her key ring as she went.

"And also, I wondered if, uh, you would be opposed to giving me a ride?"

"That's fine, Jane. Car won't start again?" Lisbon wrenched her door open and sank into the driver's seat, then threw her things over her shoulder into the backseat without a glance.

"Ow!" Jane yelped. "What the hell is in that purse?"

Lisbon jumped and turned around to find Jane covering his eye with one hand and holding his phone to his ear with the other. Narrowing her eyes, she snapped her own phone shut.

"How did you get in my car? I installed an anti-theft system!" she demanded. Jane grinned. The man was infuriating.

"You did? That's odd. You may want to consult the manufacturer. And my car is fine; I just want to talk. Are you going to answer _my _question now?"

"What? What question, Jane? I seriously don't have time for this!" Lisbon rolled her eyes and turned to start her car. She finally noticed Jane's blue Citroen parked across the street. And she also noticed the clock display in her car. She was running ten minutes late.

"Well, I asked what you have in that purse. It feels like a ton of bricks!" Lisbon glanced in her rearview to see Jane dangling her heavy purse by the strap.

"Geez, sorry. It's not like I knew you were _hiding in my backseat _or anything." Finally, she was on the road. Jane clicked his tongue.

"And you call yourself an agent. Despicable. To think of all the taxpayer dollars wasted on your training..."

"What do you want to talk to me about, Jane? Couldn't this have waited until after work?" If she had had time, she would have stopped the car and demanded that he walk.

"Probably. But I wanted to clear the air before-Lisbon? Are you wearing _lip gloss_?"

"Get on with it!" she seethed.

"Okay, okay!" Jane raised his hands defensively. "I only wanted to say...that I'm happy for you and...?"

"Mark."

"Right. Mark. And I just want you to know that it won't...hurt my feelings...if we have to cut back on our dinners because you want to be with him. I'll still be your friend," he said quickly, and Lisbon's ears perked up when she detected how distinctly uncomfortable he was.

"Why would you think I would assume you and I weren't friends just because I'm dating someone? And honestly, I don't know if 'dating' is the right word. Does two one-night stands count as 'dating'?"

"Two? You mean he-Lisbon! I'm surprised at you."

"I'm a little surprised at me, too," she replied, blushing, "but what can it hurt? I'm not some young thing anymore, Jane. He and I are both adults. He's had serious relationships. He's been married." Lisbon kept her eyes on the road, but she was unnerved by Jane's odd silence. "Say something?"

"So...he's divorced?" His voice was merely curious. Lisbon knew immediately this would not go in a pleasant direction.

"Yes."

"So...he's had a failed marriage. And he's an adult. Wouldn't a person who has gone through a divorce want to take any new relationships slowly? Just throwing that out there." He sounded far too pleased with himself, and he knew it.

"Everyone is different, Jane. Maybe he's been divorced for a while...maybe he didn't take it as hard as some people do. You don't know and I haven't asked him to find out. Because, frankly, at this point it's not any of my business. To my knowledge, Mark and I are not in a serious or monogamous relationship. If that changes, then of course I'll want him to feel comfortable enough to discuss his past with me." The light finally turned green and she turned left onto the road that would take her to the CBI. In five more minutes, she'd be out of the car and away from a possibly explosive situation. Gritting her teeth, her knuckles turned white against the steering wheel. "And I thought you said you were happy for me, and that we would still be friends? You're being...judgy. Really judgy."

"That's not even a word, Lisbon. First I find out your observational skills need work, then I discover your vocabulary isn't up to par. Tsk tsk."

"If you don't stop TSKING me, this will be the last ride I ever give you. Ever." And oh, did she mean it.

"What if my car breaks down?" Jane asked, and she glanced again in her rear view to see his bottom lip poked out adorably. Or, not adorably, since she was very annoyed with him at the moment.

"You mean, you don't know how to ride a bike? _Tsk. Tsk._" With great relief, Lisbon finally pulled into the parking lot of the CBI, found her reserved space and turned off the ignition. As she pressed the button to release her seatbelt, she heard and felt Jane lean forward in his seat behind her; he placed his hand on hers, holding her in place. He didn't speak at first; the gesture was strange, but Jane was a strange person, so Lisbon only waited patiently for him to say what he needed to say.

"Lisbon…I _am _happy for you, and I'm sure you know what you're doing with Mark. Please don't mistake my concern for my underestimation of you. You can be very, very scary. But I know that…you give your all to things. Your job, and people, especially people who appear to have had it rough. Now, I'm not saying Mark has had an easy life. I don't know the guy. But in all fairness, you don't either, and no amount of observational skill or social prowess can prepare you for certain kinds of heartbreak. Some things just sneak up on you, and then you're all out there, and you wonder how you got to _be _all out there, and it's too late for you to go back…"

Jane was silent for a long minute, and Lisbon was stricken with an oddly creeping sensation as his words sank down to her bones, like a doomed ship to the bitterly cold ocean floor. The feeling left her stinging all over, and she had to shift in her seat to feel comfortable again. In her rearview, she saw that Jane was looking directly at her, his eyes and face completely unguarded. She rarely saw his face look this way. Certainly, he was more open with her in the time since Red John had been caught, but that didn't mean all was right in Jane's world. He still hid himself away most days, except for those few precious glances when she saw what his wife must have seen: a soulful, caring, genuine man who felt everything so deeply, but who could never truly belong to anyone.

How agonizingly, gut-wrenchingly sad.

Lisbon slowly slipped her hand from beneath Jane's and placed her fingers gingerly on his own. She took a deep, silent breath.

"You're a great man, Jane. And I appreciate all of this, for the tenth time. But if the worst happens, I'm ready for it. I've had my heart broken before, and I got better," she whispered, "and you will, too."

Jane sighed, and rested his forehead against the back of Lisbon's headrest.

"I know. I know."

"Good. I love you, Jane."

Instantly, Jane's fingers went rigid in Lisbon's hand, and she realized exactly what she'd said and how it must have sounded, given what they were talking about. She jerked her hand away and out of habit, glanced at her car's clock. Twenty-five minutes late. The day was shaping up to be another shit-tastic Monday.

"We'd better go," Lisbon mumbled, and she managed to grab her purse, coffee thermos, keys and I.D. badge and exit her vehicle in record time. Her face was flaming, and she didn't look back to see if Jane followed.

He still leaned against her headrest, his eyes closed. He slid his hands to the back of the seat and slowly pushed himself away, taking a deep breath.

About five minutes passed, and Jane felt that he'd sat in a car that smelled like Lisbon long enough. His head would never clear that way. But before he opened the door and lost the moment and his senses came back to him, he very quietly said, "I love you, too, Lisbon."

Because he felt that he owed it to someone. The air, maybe. Somehow.

Moments later, Jane stepped into the kitchenette they all shared as Lisbon was walking out of it, nearly colliding with her.

"Oh-sorry, Lisbon." Jane grinned, and wondered if his face looked as wrong as it felt.

"'S'okay. Oh, staff meeting in an hour. Word is they're taking a vote on how to punish someone who leaves tuna salad in the company fridge over the weekends." Lisbon grinned and stepped around Jane, then continued toward her office.

Jane couldn't stop himself from smiling. Nothing phased Lisbon, not even really awkward moments with her consultant turned friend turned partial roommate. Jane shook his head to clear it, and made himself a cup of tea.

As soon as Lisbon made it to her office, having said "good morning" to Van Pelt, Rigsby and Cho along the way, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Taking a swig of coffee, she determined that she would never, ever again have a deep conversation with Jane about his love life, or hers, or anyone's. It really wasn't a topic she was comfortable discussing at all. Lisbon allowed herself five more seconds to feel shaken and dazed, and only five. Then, she walked to her desk, sipped her coffee, and began to tackle another pile of paperwork.

-:-

"You have ten minutes. If you need assistance, come to the door. I'll be standing right outside."

"Thank you."

The guard stepped outside the small room and closed the door behind him. There were no windows. The walls were white, and there was only a table and two chairs for furniture. There were two doors; one lead to the guard, and the other into the many cellblocks of the prison. And the visitor had been subjected to a thorough search before entering. They'd taken his tie, his shoes and belt. Such was the desire of the prisoners to escape from this place that they had to be made safe from their loved ones who would gladly end their suffering, even if it cost the imprisoned their lives.

The man dressed head to toe in prison garb sat silently, his hands neatly folded in his lap, back erect in his chair. He had no expression on his face and no greeting to offer his visitor, who was equally impassive. The two sat as stones.

"I'm sure you didn't expect to see me," the visitor finally said, low enough that the guard could not hear. The prisoner did not reply. "I felt that I should come myself. Mail can be so unreliable." He knew the prisoner would understand this to mean that the message being delivered was one he did not want to subject to even the slightest possibility of interception. Every piece of mail was carefully read and examined in this place before reaching its destination, and both of them knew it. The prisoner raised an eyebrow in interest.

"There is so much to talk about." The visitor paused. "I've missed you."

Still, the man with bound wrists said nothing. His face slowly smoothed again.

"I'd give anything to see you saved."

"You can speak here. I've made sure no one is listening this evening." The murderer seemed patient, but the other man knew differently. He hurried to deliver his message.

"I've done what you asked. No one has any idea. You'd be proud of me, Sir." He spoke animatedly, trying to make the man smile. His smile was brilliant, and only awarded to his favorites.

"If you've done your job too well, then someone already sees through you. Never think you've succeeded. Never think you're the smartest man in the room. I know you. You aren't." His voice was soft, but eerily cold. The visitor removed his hands from the metal table and placed them in his lap. His toe began to tap nervously on the floor, but he pressed on.

"Of course, you are right. Of course I don't want to risk exposure. I will correct my error immediately."

"Good. Now tell me, how is my dear friend, Mr. Jane? I've been expecting letters, but they never come. I'm so very, very disappointed in him."

"I've not yet had the honor of meeting him, Sir. I believe I soon will."

"Then I will envy your company. There are not many minds like Patrick Jane's."

Red John's face became wistful. His lips parted slightly as he saw something just over his visitor's shoulder. The man turned, but saw nothing. When he turned back to face his master, Red John was still looking at some invisible apparition.

"My last day is scheduled for three months from tomorrow. That should be plenty of time for you to do as I've asked. You're one of the few good men I can trust. Do not let me down."

"I will not. I'll have everything in order when the day comes. And you're sure Mr. Jane will want to come here alone?" The visitor was careful not to sound doubtful. His master would not be pleased.

"I am sure," he replied, his gaze slowly shifting to the face of the man opposite him. Almost as if looking at him was exhausting. "I know Mr. Jane. He will come to see me alone. Afterward, no matter what happens to me, _that _is when I will have won. When we've both lost everything." A smile curled at his lips, and he seemed peaceful.

"Excellent," the visitor said, though he didn't understand most of what he was hearing. "I'll update you on my progress next week. It's been a pleasure to see you again." He didn't stand to leave. Not until Red John dismissed him.

"Of course. Go. Don't keep Miss Lisbon waiting."

Red John's visitor stood, but only once his master had. He slowly inclined his head, then crossed the room to the door he'd come through. He knocked and called for the guard.

"There is one more thing, before you go, Mark," Red John said, and Mark could hear the smile in his voice. He turned to look at him, expecting to see his face, but Red John only stood staring at the wall, his back to Mark, not moving.

"Yes, sir?" Mark swallowed, fear slowly beginning to take him over. He needed to leave the room soon.

"Be careful with Miss Lisbon. We don't want to break her. She's so much prettier when she's smiling." His voice trailed off, and still he didn't move. The hairs on the back of Mark's neck stood on end, and when the guard finally opened the door, it was all he could do not to run through it.

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